Chapter 11
Two Days Later
Iscooped dough onto the floured tray, pretending like my life didn’t just spin out of control from one reckless night. My hands moved on autopilot, while my mind replayed every detail I wished I could forget.
Samir’s touch still lingered, like a ghost I couldn’t shake off. I keep telling myself it was a mistake, and that it didn’t mean anything, but deep down I know that’s a lie. It meant too much—I felt too much—and that wasn’t the plan.
The timer on the oven beeped, snapping me out of my thoughts. I pulled the first batch of cookies out, the sweet aroma rushing up to meet me, masking the ache sitting heavy in my chest. Everyone thinks baking is just about sugar and flour, but for me, it’s therapy. It’s how I keep from unraveling.
As much as I wanted to go all the way with Samir, mentally, I wasn’t ready to be anyone’s “girl” again.
I’ve only been with Jerome, so the thought of being with another man scared me.
However, the way Samir handled my body with just his tongue alone, I knew it’d only take a few more sessions to have me dickmatized.
I’d be outside his house in broad daylight, armed with a spotlight and bad intentions, if he tried to play me the way Jerome did.
I ain’t trying to catch no case for being a stalker, though, which is why I was adamant about us not having sex again.
Samir did me a favor by not pushing things further and respecting my fading boundaries because if I hadn’t passed out on the couch, I was positive I would be feeling even more discontent the last two days.
When I woke up the morning after the meet-and-greet “party,” I was still on the couch.
Samir’s cologne lingering in the air, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to face him again.
I was too embarrassed about how the night ended.
I also was ashamed that anytime I was around that man, the day ended with him between my legs.
I was stuck between guilt and craving.
I immediately packed my things and booked the quickest flight home, missing the hotel’s official grand opening.
I was happy the Armstrongs only hired me for the pre-opening gala because had I needed to stay for the main event, I would’ve breached my contract.
Nyala wasn’t happy about my decision after filling her in on what happened with Samir, but she understood and left with me.
She kept giving me that “Girl, you trippin’” look the whole way to the airport, but she didn’t press it. She knew when to back off.
My mind flashed back to the conversation Nyala, and I had on the plane ride home. She said a lot, but it was one part that stuck. Rather, one question.
“Do you want to find love again, Zanova?”
My answer had been a quick yes, but the truth was heavier than that.
I was afraid of opening up… Afraid of letting someone in…
Afraid of getting my heart broken again.
And then there was Samir wanting kids, which was something I couldn’t give him.
That fact alone should’ve been enough to keep me running with my walls up, like they always were.
Samir had been blowing up my phone for the past two days.
Of course, I didn’t answer. He even came by the shop yesterday looking for me, and I had Denise tell him I wasn’t there.
I watched from the cameras as he stood at the counter, his tall frame blocking the sunlight pouring through the glass door.
He didn’t look mad, just disappointed. And that somehow made me feel worse.
After he left, I sat in the office for a long time, staring at my phone, wondering what I would even say if I did pick up.
Sorry for running? Sorry for acting like what happened between us didn’t mean anything?
But I couldn’t. That would mean I had to admit that I was feeling something for Samir, and I wasn’t ready for that.
So I buried myself in work, hoping the long hours and constant smell of baked goods would drown out the thoughts of him.
However, that wasn’t enough. Every time the bell over the door chimed, my heart jumped, thinking it might be him again.
And when it wasn’t, I felt that strange mix of relief and disappointment.
I keep telling myself to move on and let it go, but it’s hard to forget a man who made your whole body remember him.
Now, back home in my bakery, everything feels familiar but off. The sweet scent in the air didn’t calm me the way it usually does. I’ve got flour on my hands, and a storm in my chest. Every time I close my eyes, I see him.
His smirk.
His eyes.
His skin.
His hands.
The way he’d look at me like I was his sweetest temptation.
I walked over to the shelf and grabbed a few small boxes with my bakery logo and began placing the cookies from the tray inside.
This was the last of the online orders for the day.
I’ve been here since five this morning, filling a large order that was set to be delivered today by five this evening.
The person who called the order in specifically requested that I deliver the cookies.
Normally, I wouldn’t take such a request, but one of my delivery guys called out sick, and the other was already busy with deliveries, so I had no choice but to step in.
After I made this delivery, I was taking my ass home to run me a warm bubble bath.
The city was expecting heavy rain in the next hour, and I wanted to be home before it started.
I had Denise come and help me to the car with the multiple dozens of cookies.
I didn’t know who ordered two hundred of the same chocolate chip cookies, but I wasn’t mad.
As long as they paid for them, I wasn’t complaining.
Money was money, and I was here to make it.
As we were loading my truck, a car pulled up alongside me, and Jerome stepped out.
My stomach tightened before my mind could catch up.
Of all people, it had to be him. As always, he was dressed in a navy blue suit.
Still handsome as the day we met, but now his face didn’t stir my insides like it used to.
When we were married, Jerome rarely dressed down. On weekends, he’d lounge in his pajamas, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, pretending to be present while his mind was miles away.
Probably with her.
“Zanova, we need to talk,” he said, his tone clipped and serious, like he still had authority over me.
“No, we really don’t. I keep telling you that.”
“You that you need to leave that nigga, Samir, alone.” His jaw flexed as he shoved his hands in his pockets.
I blinked, a humorless laugh slipping out. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Samir. You need to stay away from him. You don’t know what type of man you are dealing with.”
“That’s supposed to concern you… Why?”
He scoffed, pacing a little. “It’s not about concern. I just don’t want you getting caught up with somebody who’s using you.”
“Using me? Oh, that’s rich of you, Jerome.” I let the sarcasm drip from my voice. “You cheated on me, multiple times at that, and you worried about me being used?”
“Those women meant nothing to me. Nova, I know I fucked up by having a baby on you, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t love you.”
“Nigga, please. You didn’t love me. You're only sorry that all your lies caught up to you!” He was pissing me off, trying to justify his infidelities.
“Jerome,” I said calmly, stepping closer so he could see the steel in my eyes.
“You lost the right to question anything I do the minute you decided to make me look stupid and acted like I wasn’t enough.
You don’t get to act like you care now. Not when you didn’t back then. ”
He stared at me, searching for something. Perhaps regret or weakness, but I didn’t flinch. I’d said what I said.
“You’ve changed…” he finally stated after our stare-off.
“Good. That was the point.”
I turned my back on him and climbed into my truck, refusing to give him the satisfaction of another glance.
Whatever he thought was left between us was buried right where he left it.
I plugged the delivery address into my GPS and made my way to my destination, refusing to give Jerome another nanosecond of my time or thoughts.
It took me a little over thirty-five minutes before I pulled up to a massive house, or more like an estate.
The place looked like something straight out of a magazine.
High iron gates trimmed in gold, a long winding driveway lined with tall palm trees, and a fountain in the center so big it could’ve doubled as a swimming pool.
The lawn was manicured to perfection, not a single blade of grass out of place.
I slowed down just to take it all in, because whoever lived here clearly had money-money.
I pressed the button on the intercom, my eyes scanning the property.
The house itself was breathtaking—three stories of glass and white stone, sunlight bouncing off every window as if it was showing off its elegance.
There were balconies with sleek black railings, and the kind of landscaping that screamed, “I pay people to make this look effortless.”
No one answered the intercom, but before I could press it again, the tall, golden gates creaked open on its own. I hesitated, glancing around, but curiosity got the best of me.
“Okayyy, automatic gates. Fancy,” I muttered, shifting my truck into drive.
I eased through the opening and drove up the winding driveway. The closer I got, the bigger the house looked, stretching wide across the hill like it owned the whole block. When I reached the top, I parked, took a deep breath, and grabbed the boxes of cookies from the back.